Apr 2012
Penelope sneeze.
Then again.
Her Nose ran.
She took out a handkerchief.
Her mother had brought her.
That Christmas before.
That almost covered her nose.
Blew, filled it.
And in disgust.
Looked for tissue.
For her nose she must empty.
Penelope blew.
Then again.
Her Nose ran.
She took out a handkerchief.
Her mother had brought her.
That Christmas before.
That almost covered her nose.
Blew, filled it.
And in disgust.
Looked for tissue.
For her nose she must empty.
Penelope blew.
This is my 200 poem, cool I did not know I would enjoy writing so much.
(64/M/England)
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